Witless?

The years keep piling on me like a bunch of dirty football players, and I don't hear a whistle blowing. Along with that fact I find myself waking up in the middle of the night with an urge to go to the bathroom and then having trouble getting back to sleep. So I have discovered a pastime while I lie there: I turn on my Walkman, slip my earphones on and listen to George Noory's talk show "Coast to Coast." Last night's topic dealt with the future of artificial intelligence. It made me wonder that maybe in the future all we witless people will do in the future is push buttons.

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My question for the day is what was the motivation for Secretary of Treasury Paulson placing himself in the role of being singly in charge of $750 billion? There's the old adage that goes power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. I'm not surprised the bailout bill ran into trouble.

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I'm getting the cover printed at Staples for my "big" book. Even though I don't know if anyone will like it, I've had lots of fun with it. I've already started writing the next edition. The process is something like a blindfolded kid flailing away at a pinata until it bursts open and so many surprises fall out of it.

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My old Chevy pickup suffers from a blight of rust. It's 16 years old, runs well, but looks terrible. Our local O'Reilly's auto parts manager recommended a rust inhibitor that he said will stop the rust from eating. I worked on one side of the truck yesterday, and now I'm going out to do the other side. I hope it works.

Link's Legacy

Last evening we attended a premiere showing of the film "When the Landscape is Quiet Again: The Legacy of Art Link." It was good, and I intend to watch it again when it airs on Prairie Public TV on October 9. The event was held in the Belle Mehus Auditorium in Bismarck and will be repeated again in Fargo on Monday evening. The title of the film comes from a speech he gave in the 1970's which is regarded as his and North Dakota's "Gettysburg Address." During that period he found himself embroiled in controversy regarding the opening up of North Dakota to energy companies who wanted to come in and, unbridled, tear up the countryside, rape the resources they lusted after, and then leave, taking no responsibility for the mess they'd made.

North of Bismarck near Highway 83 is a plot of several hundred acres of land located at the junction of the road leading to the town of Garrison where there is good testimony to ruination. I don't know the history of it, but it is obvious no one took anyone to task for what had been created. Countless, huge piles of soil formed by large earth moving machines stand and leave that patch of ground absolutely no good for anything except for wildlife habitat, and the terrain is so rough and covered with brush that I don't think hunters can walk through it. Thankfully, land now must be returned to its original condition after the resources have been mined.

We saw Art and Grace Link in Medora a couple of weeks ago at Teddy Roosevelt's 150 birthday celebration. The organizers made it known that Grace, too, celebrated a birthday that day, her 90th. I have this anecdote: the day was windy, rainy, and in general not nice to be outdoors. Mary and I had just eaten in Medora's large cafeteria and were walking to our car. Here comes Art and Grace, he in a wheelchair and she pushing him at a very brisk pace to get into the restaurant and out of the nasty weather. A younger lady accompanied them, but she had to walk fast to keep up with Mrs. Link.

Last night when the Links were brought into their seats, the many hundreds who made up the crowd stood to give them an extended standing ovation. All of the stories related in the film illustrate why he is held in high esteem.

Ramblin' Along

"The will of the people is the only legitimate foundation of any government, and to protect its free expression should be our first object." Thomas Jefferson, First Inaugural Address, 1801

"We must keep steadily in mind that no people were ever yet benefitted by riches if their prosperity corrupted their virtue." Theodore Roosevelt, speech to July 4th, 1886 celebration in Dickinson, ND
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Sometimes it seems as if the old time politicians were the only ones who knew how to get things right. The Jefferson quote should have been referred to by those who wrote the "bail out bill" for Wall Street. I'm glad the legislators reacted to the language in that bill that says no oversight or legal recourse may be taken. It seems outrageous to fork over $700 billion and never have anything to say after the fact.

Roosevelt's words were spoken while he was still ranching in the Badlands, before he rose to national prominence. He held a strong moral ethic that was recognized in this region and was invited to be the main speaker at the July 4th gathering. A good book outlining Roosevelt's early career, including his stay in North Dakota, is Edmund Morris's The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt.

I'm rambling today, but there's so much floating around the air waves I have trouble concentrating on one thing. Talk radio always gets around to callers who say we should have a third political party, that we are not well served by the two major parties. I learned in Political Science 101 at UND that that probably will never come to pass in this country. If some splinter group comes up with an attractive idea, it simply gets adopted as a plank on a major party's platform which erases further need for a small third voice on the matter.

This is what Ole says: "Vhy don't yew play golf with Sven anymore, Ole?" --- "Vell, vould yew play golf with a sneak who moves da golf ball and puts down the wrong score?" said Ole --- "Vell, certainly not!" replied Lena. --- "Vell, neither vill Sven!" grumbled Ole.

Crisis

Finally we are starting to hear some debate on the financial crisis. I'm with the line of thought that we should slow down a bit, let our legislature respond (as is their job), and figure out the root of the problem. Quick reactions told us what's wrong, but it seems like an awfully large responsibility was given to an executive committee to decide and move on the problem. Of course, culprits get to walk away, and we are stuck with the bill. The kids went into the candy store, stole the place clean, and Big Daddy gets the bill. I don't think we were set up to operate as a constitutional monarchy, but that seems to be how it is being handled. Crisis talk always creates panic to change, but to what? To what a handful of people tell us?

Our systems have been so fully deregulated that the fat cats get to pretty much call the shots (Thanks Mr. Reagan), then after greed rears his ugly head with his ravenous mouth wide open, bad things start happening. I like the analogy of comparing deregulation to a football game. Take the referees off the field, say "Thanks, we don't need you any longer, go to it teams, and by the way, we trust you to play a clean game. May the best man win." Chaos would erupt, right?
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I had a great time at the Apple Fest in Bismarck this weekend. Hundreds of people roamed around the grounds of Buckstop Junction, and a few even strolled into the hall where I performed my program. Buckshot Hoffner has been the big push with establishing the non-profit organization, and now groups such as the Bismarck Cancer Center can use this old frontier town for events such as this. Mr. Hoffner is a grand old gentleman. He introduced me to the audience and, after I finished, he had very nice things to say. At the end of the day as Mary and I made our way out I told one of the organizers that they can call on me again next year.

The Wisdom of Lena

I've got an idea regarding the huge compensation packages some of these CEO's receive when they leave companies which are often times in poor financial condition. I would still want to see CEO's receive incentives for good work, but how about delaying payment of incentives to them until a year or so has passed, and independent auditing firms have had a chance to look closely at the books. That would surely stop any "snatch and run" tactics that some of them seem to employ and never get called out on except for getting a little negative publicity in the media which quickly dies away. I think a simple bipartisan bill passed in Congress delaying the payment of golden parachutes would solve a lot of problems.

This financial mess we're in seems too complicated, and I suppose my idea would be quickly shouted down as being illegal or unconstitutional or something. I just don't know, and a lot of the problem really bores me. I was a bit concerned about our bank deposits being insured under FDIC, but my bank told me on the other end of a phone line that we were fully insured with our modest accounts. So, while the government runs off a new batch of paper money, I will continue sleeping well at night. Just don't mess with my Social Security and Medicare!

I think Ole's Lena speaks with wisdom about this mess. She went to her doctor for a physical exam. After checking her over and giving some tests, the doctor said, "Lena, I guess you just have to realize you're not getting any younger." --- "I don't vant to get any YOUNGER," said Lena, "I yust vant you to fix me up so I get OLDER!"

World's Crazy

The world's gone crazy, wars, explosions, candidates telling us the other is a liar, banks going under, government bailouts, etc., etc. To hell with all of it, it's time for Ole and Lena to be heard.

Little Ole was doing arithmetic. "Dad, can yew help me vit my aritmetic? I am looking fer da common denominator." --- "Vell, uff da! grumbled Papa Ole. "Haven't dey found dat darned ting yet. Dey vere lookin' fer it vhen I vas a kid!"

Little teen-aged Lena was on the phone again. She talked for 45 minutes. When she finally hung up, Ole said, "Vot happened, Li'l Lena? Yew usually talk fer at least two hours." --- "Ya, Papa, I know, but dat vas a wrong number."

"Ole, dat's da fort time yew've gone back for more vedding cake! Doesn't dat embarrass yew?" asked Lena. --- Ole said, "Vell, vhy should it, Lena, I yust keep telling dem it's fer yew."

I don't want to think too deeply today. I'm practicing, over and over, the material I'm going to use Saturday for my half hour on stage at the Apple Fest. I don't know much about this celebration yet, but it's sponsored by the Cancer Center Foundation to help the Center provide high quality radiation services and assistance to patients and their family members. They offer payment for entertainment, but I checked the box on the contract that says: "I do not wish to accept payment for my services. I would prefer to donate my services as an in-kind donation to the Bismarck Cancer Center Foundation." --- Dat vay if I doo a poor yob I can say yew got vhat yew paid for.

TR's Birthday Party

We drove to Medora on Saturday for Teddy Roosevelt's 150th birthday party. Unfortunately, because of a prior commitment, he was unable to attend, but we all had a good time anyway, even if it was cold and rainy. Much of the activity was planned for the large outdoor amphitheater; however, last minute changes accommodated the large crowd anyway. I believe somewhere in the vicinity of 500 people attended. The gathering space in their community center is a regulation sized basketball court, and the wall to wall chairs covering the floor were filled.

Clay Jenkinson plays Teddy Roosevelt and does it very well. He impersonates other historical figures, too, but Saturday he was TR all the way. The first event portrayed the presidential inauguration of Roosevelt after the assassination of William McKinley. That scene, scheduled all along to be held in a small theater in Medora, filled to overflowing standing room only. Jenkinson's costuming, actions, and voice inflections held the crowd in silent attention for over an hour. After that we drove to the newly remodeled visitors center of the Chateau de Mores for a presentation by the Marquis and his wife Medora. There, too, the rain drove us indoors and the conference room could not hold the crowd wanting to listen, so they scheduled a second performance.

Time came for the main event of the day and the large crowd made its way to the community center. Music, poetry, Teddy, and a tasty buffalo feed finished the festivities, and I'm glad we attended. The next inviting event scheduled in October will be the Dickinson State University symposium titled "Theodore Roosevelt, the Conservationist in the Arena." I plan to attend. The western part of the state has latched onto Teddy's persona and achievements and that's not bad.

Ike

Hurricane Ike bears down on Texas and it looks like a big one. The ABC weatherman this morning superimposed an outline of the hurricane over that state; they were equal in size. Maybe comparisons will be made after the storm blows out, but I'm surprised little or no mention has been made of the Hurricane of 1900 that pretty well destroyed Galveston.

I remember reading about it a couple of times, so I went to look up some facts regarding it. Names were not hung on hurricanes then, but it maintains its reputation by being known as the Hurricane of 1900. It struck September 8, 1900 with 135 mph winds and has been cataloged as a Category 4. Best estimates figure 8,000 people were killed, so many that corpses were piled onto carts for burial at sea, but currents washed them back onto shore. Then funeral pyres were lit to burn the bodies. Free whisky was passed out to numb the emotions of work crews who had the job of collecting and piling the bodies for burning. It was the deadliest natural disaster in U. S. history.

100 Years Ago

I again made my way to the Heritage Center library to read filmstrips of Sheldon newspapers dated 1908 to see how things were going there one hundred years ago. I gleaned some interesting tidbits from the issues of January, February, and March. A weekly paper, it covered local through international news and gave the subscribers quite a good product for their money.

A.S. Taylor and Son: We have in stock too many good horse blankets at $1.80 each - Dan Torfin lost another horse from swamp fever yesterday and has another he doesn't expect to pull through. He has had six die since harvest representing a loss of $1,200 - The Wyndmere wolf hunt was not a success - There are a lot of bachelor homesteaders down in the southwestern corner of the state who want wives - A blacksmith of Mandan was kicked in the face by a broncho and the owner of the equine fears its leg so badly sprained it will never be of much use - An epidemic among the canines at Mohall beat the dog catcher out of his fees - Manager Chauncey Durgin is this week adding all new scenery to the opera house - Lew Howell's auction sale turned out quite auspiciously, the total amount realized about $2,400. A large crowd was present and the bidding was brisk, the horses bringing from $160 - $200 each.

Wolves are reported very bold along the Mouse River in McHenry County and some stockmen are losers - The people in the vicinity of Owego School No. 1 are well now, and arrangements are being made to open the school at an early date. The school house will be fumigated this week - El Paso, Texas: Pat Garrett, known the continent over as "the man who killed Billy the Kid," the noted outlaw and one of the last of the most prominent gunmen of frontier days was shot and killed in a dispute over a ranch lease - Yankton, SD: Fighting for his life with a hammer against a vicious bull, George Moon, a well-known farmer, drove off the brute but is in a terrible condition - Will Baguhn has been manufacturing considerable lumber on the banks of the Sheyenne River this winter.

Superintendent Hutchinson was in Owego on Wednesday trying to persuade the school board that the proper thing to do was to have another month of school this year - High school attendance still is regular although it will soon be time for the large boys to drop out on account of the spring rush. Permit us to urge the parents to keep their children in school every day if possible - For children's hoarseness use White Pine Syrup with Tar, P.J.Hoff's - Anselm now has a hotel, Mr. Grey partitioned off the poolroom and public hall into rooms - The county commission will pay three cents for each and every gopher tail. This will be good news to the small boy and indirectly to the candy merchants.

September 8, 1958

This time of year, each year, I see farm fields where silage cutters drive back and forth along standing rows of cornstalks. Chopped corn ferments and cures into rich winter feed, silage for herds of cattle when it's piled and packed on the ground or blown with a high rpm fan into an upright silo that looks like a missile standing on a launch pad. After the first day juice squeezed from the packed corn begins to puddle and prompt workers to joke about collecting it to make corn liquor, White Lightnin'. The syrupy sourness of it draws flies by the thousands, and a man's boots soak up the smell and slipperiness of it. It's been a long time since I worked with silage, but I remember those times well.

One time, a young man, who'd just gotten home from high school football practice and feeling proud that he'd finally learned to "hit" and please his coach, quickly changed into his work clothes and boots and drove the mile to a farm where he was to take his father's place on the silage making crew so he could come home to do the milking chores. Watching that day I can still see the sixteen year old kid, dumb as a pup, working to unload a wagon box full of chopped corn and then making a life-changing mistake.

A few leaves of spilled silage from the many wagon loads that day kept building up at the place where the wheels of the wagon came to rest at the blower's unloading apron. The catch release of the wagon's top-hinged rear endgate therefore stood a bit higher and harder to reach with each load. The solution was easy enough, something he'd done before, learning it from the men who did it. Luckily, he pulled the lever to stop the auger's spiral twisting but did nothing to slow the hum of the heavy fan driven driven by a tractor's pulley that spun it at hundreds of rpm's.

Now, here is the point I want to yell and wave my arms to catch his attention, "No, don't step on that platform with those wet boots to trip that catch!" Of course, there's no point in doing that. It would be futile! The scene occurred fifty years ago, fifty years ago today, to be exact. Warning cries can't be heard across those years, and it's no use wishing that he should have braced himself before the falling weight of the heavy tripped endgate caused his slippery shoes to slide and cause him to tumble feet first toward the hum of the fan. His left foot anchored against the metal housing of the fan, but his right found nothing except the forbidden mouth of a cave where the flesh-eating Grendel devoured his victims.

The man in the story has learned to live with the events of the day, but the boy still recoils in horror with the pain and the sight of the shattered bones sticking from his mangled flesh and the gangrenous infection that nearly took more than his limb. Fifty years ago today; it has not been forgotten!

Old Local History

It's fun to read old community history books. Our state dates from 1889 and that makes us 119 years old now; most of these books include early settler stories, even ones pre-dating statehood. I have in front of me now the Grant County history book printed in 1976. I took note of some of the nicknames people were known by: Rattlesnake Dick, Negro Pete, and Old Bull. Rattlesnake lived in the Dogtooth Hills near Raleigh, Negro Pete, a black man, homesteaded somewhere in the county, and Old Bull seems to have gotten his name somehow from a famous Norwegian violinist.

Help wasn't readily available. People needed to take care of themselves. One story told of how a man and his team of horses were filling in an old well. The horses' footing caved away and they slipped into the bottom of the well. He did what he had to do - shovel dirt into the well until the horses rose high enough to step out.

A young boy wanted his sisters to help with his milking chores each morning, but they'd always sleep in, sleep in, that is, until the day he threw a dead rattlesnake into their bed. After that, all he had to do was make a hissing sound at their door.

Cat Coulee John lived in Sims when he was a little boy. Instead of going to school, he preferred to herd, for pay, the cows of families who lived there. One lady never paid anything so he'd always drive her cow into muddy swampland. Another lady who never wanted to give him pay got her cow milked out onto the ground where it soaked away.

Donald Stevenson settled in the area. He owned a freighting company and hauled goods all over the region. One winter his train of oxen and wagons got caught in a blizzard near, I'm quite sure, the area where I was born and raised, Sheldon. A roaring three day storm prevented rescue of the unprotected animals and men, and 21 oxen died. Two men with a dog sled carrying mail froze to death. Recently I had a hand in getting Stevenson elected to the ND Cowboy Hall of Fame when I spoke in support of his election before an annual meeting of those members.

A couple, married in 1906, received a wedding gift of eleven head of cattle from parents. They, along with other families, drove them from Zeeland to a river ferry crossing near Fort Yates. Women, children, and belongings were taken across first. On the second trip carrying the men and the cattle, the ferry struck a sandbar and lodged there until the next day. They all spent a nervous night because they were afraid of the Indians who lived nearby.

The stories go on and on. I read them often to remind myself that the people who settled this country were usually deprived of the things we take for granted.

A Minor Story...

Our local media carried a somewhat minor story a few days ago about a locally based writer, Clay Jenkinson. He has earned a well-regarded status as both a writer and impersonator of various well-known historical personages, including Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, Meriwether Lewis, etc. His book Message on the Wind: A Spiritual Odyssey onthe Northern Plains received mention in the recent September issue of Forbes Magazine as "making a superb companion in the waning days of summer." I own that book, have read it, and enjoyed it. I mention all this because of the epigraphs Jenkinson uses in that book; they are all passages from Tom McGrath's poetic work. Apparently McGrath has high esteem in Jenkinson's eyes since he used a number of these quotes in his book.

The foregoing is a feeble introduction to mention an article my son Brandon and his girlfriend handed me this past weekend. The Moorhead State University Alumnews carried a lengthy piece written by retiring professor Mark Vins entitled "Coming of Age at Moorhead State: the McGrath Years." While the article does not speak exclusively of McGrath, Vinz seems to have felt McGrath's presence on campus was a defining and notable period during Vinz's thirty year tenure.

From what I have learned about McGrath and his work over the years and why he has earned a dedicated following, I believe his stature was earned by his outspoken willingness to speak truth to power and how he detested "fat cats" who took advantage of the less than powerful working class. His poetry was the vehicle he used to make his views known. I will quote Vinz: "Tom McGrath retired in the spring of 1983, his life during his MSU years every bit as tumultuous as the times. He was an outspoken man, a man of extremes, but also an incredibly generous man, a profound influence on so many, and the source of some of the best poetry of the era - his long poem in four volumes, Letter to an Imaginary Friend, judged by many to be one of the great works of recent American literature."

Pictures: Dowser, Cap, & a Wanderer

We drove over to Lisbon yesterday to visit my folks. The photo albums came out, started circulating, and I chose a few pictures to bring home to make copies of. I was always fascinated with Dad's ability to take a willow stick and use it to dowse water. One snapshot pictures him doing just that. He'd begin with the forked stick aimed straight at the ground coming from the bottom of his clenched fists. Then he'd raise his forearms until his wrists and fists touched his chest, thereby making the stick parallel with the ground. He'd start walking slowly in a meandering course. Invariably something in the earth, presumably water, would start attracting the stick, and I would watch somewhat amazed while the stick started twisting and wrenching in his hands until it pointed straight down. Often times the wrenching was so severe that it strained and ripped the green bark of the twig and proved to me it wasn't some trick of his where he'd let the branch swivel loosely down. He always gripped it tightly! He said yesterday, "I don't know how scientific it was." I know there are a lot of naysayers, but I do know of a national dowsers organization whose members are believers.

In another picture, a little boy, me, in a photo booth, sits posed and looking off to one side. He's dressed neatly in a double breasted jacket and sports a beanie cap on his head. It was the cap that brought Ma to ask if I remembered it. "No, I was too young to remember that." She told how I always wanted to wear it. One day we were visiting at her relatives' Ted and Molly Strand's farm and I came crying that my cap was gone. They searched, and I must have steered them in the right direction. They found it laying at the bottom of a hole in the outdoor toilet. Apparently that is where it stayed.

The last picture is of me sitting in my maroon '66 Impala, turning the key to start it, and wearing a black nylon jacket and a straw cowboy hat. I remember it well, late August, 1968. (The old barn still stands straight in the background; the tornado hadn't taken it yet.) The occasion: I'm heading north to Alaska. Dreams of making it big up there raged like a storm in my soul. I had been reading magazine and books, watching movies, and dreaming, then dreaming some more of going there. The summer's custom combining concluded, and on the previous day I drove to Fargo and bought a sleeping bag, plus other items I thought I would need. The story of what transpired as a result of that trip is much too long to tell here, but it was the first day of the rest of my life.